Harry Potter Amorized

"Amorized"

~A Bellamort Fanfic by Scarlette Blackwell~

_"You're so hypnotizing...could you be the Devil, could you be an angel?"_

-E.T. by Katy Perry

For a second he stared at her. The young woman eyed the bubbling lavender-tinted drink in her hand, her dark, hooded eyes flicking up to gaze at him beneath thick lashes. Her sumptuous build seemed to emphasize her coquettish manner; her hair was a wild mass of ebony ringlets that blew back in the night wind as she stood opposite him at the rail of the Astronomy Tower. She swished the liquid in her goblet slowly, considering it.

"What did you say this was?"

Her low, raspy voice broke the silence.

The young man did not blink as he responded.

"A bit of punch left over from the party down in the Slytherin Common Room. Thought you might want some."

"Thanks."

She eyed him cautiously, reaching out to take the silver snake-adorned goblet from his outstretched hand, and peered inside. Her eyes drifted from his chalice to her own. Its contents were also of a lavender shade, and yet-

"I don't recall any punch of this color..." she said with slight suspicion.

"It's the First Years," the young man muttered, as if anticipating her distrust. "One of them thought it'd be a laugh to try turning the punch into the love potion, Amortentia. Of course, he failed miserably. All he produced was the color...hence, the-"

"The purple hue, yes."

The girl let out a sudden, harsh cackle that reverberated throughout the chamber, somehow chilling the air even more. The young man's lips cracked in a slight smile. Her eyes glinted with the venom of her House.

"Who did it?"

"Terren Brookle."

"The _squib_?"

The young man gave an almost imperceptive nod. She snickered.

"Idiot half-breeds. It's shameful they even let squibs into Hogwarts, much less Slytherin!" Her chest heaved with passion, "How are we supposed to live up to Slytherin's great name if we have worthless half-bloods wreaking havoc and causing us shame wherever we go?"

"Indeed."

She gave him a rueful look, then tipped her head back and took a sip from her glass. As the young man watched, her eyes widened in shock, bulging as though with a sudden revelation of betrayal. Her body tensed, trembling as if struggling to resist some overpowering magnetic pull. Then, quite as suddenly, she relaxed.

Leaning casually against the rail, she licked a stray drop from the corner of her mouth, her lips curving into a seductive smirk.

"So, Tom…what now?"

The young man's eyebrows lifted ever so slightly. He hesitated.

_ What now?_

He had not anticipated that it would work this quickly.

She frowned at him.

"What's wrong, Tom? Don't you like yours?"

"Oh, it's fine. Fine." He responded in a dead voice.

She didn't seem to hear. Already she was advancing on him, her figure swaying with each stalking stride, a new, greedy light a-flare in her eyes.

Bellatrix Lestrange was a good student; but in the way of 'good', that was about all that could be said for her. At sixteen, she was intelligent, quick-witted, and more beautiful than any other Slytherin witch at Hogwarts. She was, however, a determinedly proud and haughty person, who took extreme pleasure in her rank as a pure-blood, and had, as a result, become something of a menace to those who did not share her blood status.

Perhaps it was more this particular trait that made her stand out to the young man than any other-even than her beauty. For he, too, was unlike the others: he, too, possessed a quality of "above-ness" that separated him from the rest.

A tall, pale youth with a handsome, severe countenance—equally as dark as his companion's and nearly reptilian in quality—his eyes betrayed a heart forever crushed by one too many disappointments. It was the heart of the rejected orphan, haunted by questions and torments that no child should ever contemplate. He was a walking wound, a powerful wizard, and a stone-cold killer; and his name was Tom Marvolo Riddle.

Tom smiled smugly and turned to lean against the rail. The moon was full tonight. _All the better. _A warm breeze whipped around them as Bellatrix came to stand by him at the rail. He surveyed the school grounds, that stretched out below them, highlighted in silvery-blue. Bellatrix cocked her head and peered at him, a note of concern in her sultry voice.

"Where are you, Tom? Why so sad, so somber?" she crooned, her voice a twisted, singsong melody, as she raised a pale hand to stroke his cheek.

He flinched as her long, cold nails scraped lightly across his skin. He had never been touched like that before. In fact, he couldn't recall the last time anyone had _ever_ touched him. He continued staring out upon the landscape, his jaw set and eyes hard.

"Dear boy, whatever is wrong?" She cocked her head, simpering, "Has the world come to an end?"

He looked away, silent. Undeterred, she pulled him away from the ledge toward the center of the circular chamber, a hopeful smile curving the edges of her lips. Her fingers reached up to trace the snake crest on his cloak. The hooded eyes rose to meet his.

"Come now; let's not waste the moment, shall we?"

He made to turn away again, but she caught him by the chin and slowly turned his face toward her. As her lips parted slightly, she tilted her head back to look up into his eyes, and the moonlight fell across her swanlike neck like white silk. He looked down into her eyes and saw his own mirrored in them.

"Dear Tom; so solemn, so strong, so..." she breathed the last word: "Alone."

She was pressed against his chest now, her head still tilted in that odd, inquiring way. He regarded her, but in his eyes she found only the empty, clear chill of ice.

Bellatrix pondered him, reaching up to stroke his hair.

All of this he would have to endure. The girl's emotions had racked her so completely that there would be no undoing the effects of the potion now. He had chosen his prey well. The Amortentia had taken such complete effect that he doubted it would ever diminish.

He smiled inwardly, for such was his intent. Somehow, Tom knew, he would need her: someone he could absolutely count on to be there for him always: a loyal servant and cunning ally. Here, standing before him, was the one person who had ever truly been devoted to him. This love; however counterfeit, was the only love he had ever known.

And Tom knew what love could do to people, what it had done to his mother. How she had died for love of his worthless muggle father, wasting away for want of him. Her whole essence and purpose in life had been wrapped up in his being.

When the time was right; when the world truly _did _end, Bellatrix would be right there beside him, ever faithful: the one person upon whom he could always rely.

_My last and best lieutenant._

He stared deep into her eyes, as if seeing her truly for the first time. The severity in his countenance softened at her expression of complete adoration and tenderness. He sensed, for just the briefest of moments, the proximity of a love he never knew.

Forgetting himself, Tom reached for her slowly, bringing his face close to hers, closing his eyes, inhaling her scent, feeling her breath as it mixed with his own… Never had he experienced such intense recognition and desire as he sensed within her. It was tangible; like an electric current that ran between them: a channel of exhilarating obsession, longing and _worship_… He had never been wanted like this…appreciated, _craved_…. His lips parted, closing the distance slowly.

The chalice in his hand fell to the ground and shattered. His eyes flashed open and he remembered the spell, cursing himself for falling prey to his own trick.

It wasn't real. Not a bit of it.

_NO! I will not be like my mother! _

He broke away from her, shoving her roughly off of him; and stared at his victim, utterly repulsed. She stumbled backward, an expression of injured shock on her face.

"What's wrong?"

He turned away, unable to look at her...heard the soft, light steps behind him, felt her arms glide down his, her voice whispering in his ear the final, dreaded question:

"Don't you love me, Tom?"

He gritted his teeth, shutting his eyes.

Love:The foul thing that had eluded him all his life, the thing that offered nothing but despair and degradation for all who embraced it; that weakened and tortured, distracted and betrayed.

_Love._

But it was the only way.

Pressing his lips into a thin, cold smile, he turned back to her.

"Yes."

At this her expression became radiant. She laughed raucously, spinning in a gleeful circle before him, then threw herself into his arms and pulled him into her. He knew it was coming before it happened. Her lips connected with his in a binding kiss: a kiss that he was obligated to return.

He responded coldly at first; then, remembering his purpose, numbness turned to brutality. He delved deep inside of her as if to consume her very soul. She finally broke away, panting; cackling giddily, and he knew that the battle was over before it had even begun.

For an instant, as Tom regarded her delirious revelry, an expression of reflection stole over him. He studied his new accomplice, a glowing pulse radiating inside of him, something that even their kiss had not ignited: a covenant and understanding shared only between twin souls when Fate binds them together as one single, unstoppable force. His skin prickled with foreboding.

Here was a young woman who was unafraid of anything, who would not take 'no' for an answer. Who knew what she wanted and demanded it without fear. He had chosen well. Together they would be unstoppable—_he_ would be unstoppable! And when he needed her most, there she would be, ready and more than willing to do his bidding.

_Bellatrix Lestrange; you are mine, at last…._

He smirked down at her. She grinned, taking his cocky smile for encouragement.

"What's in your head, witch?"

"You."

He reached out his hand, and she ran to embrace the darkness.

_Copyright Scarlette Blackwell, 2012._


End file.

Harry Potter, Romance, Tragedy